


honey, you're familiar (like my mirror years ago)

by captainsthve



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky is trying his best, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nostalgia, Oblivious Steve Rogers, POV Alternating, friends to lovers to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainsthve/pseuds/captainsthve
Summary: Bucky says softly, “Were we together, before?”A rusty knife seems to plunge into Steve’s heart. “You don’t remember?”Bucky breaks eye contact and shakes his head, “No, m’sorry, I don’t.”The knife twists.Or: Bucky comes back to Steve and somehow remembers everything but their relationship. Suspicious.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Peggy Carter, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 30
Kudos: 387





	honey, you're familiar (like my mirror years ago)

**Author's Note:**

> I checked my edit history and it turns out I've been working on this fic on and off for three! years! 
> 
> Title from Hozier's _From Eden_

It’s the summer of 1934. Steve Rogers is sixteen and in love with his best friend. It’s a secret guarded close and precious to his heart. Steve knows this fact the way he knows that the sun will rise in the morning- a steady, unyielding part of life that he has no choice but to accept. He, of course, tells no one. He knows that he’ll be met with nothing but disgust and rejection, and would much rather hide his secret for life rather than have it be tarnished by the judgement of others.

Bucky finds out his secret that same summer.

It’s because he’s a nosy asshole and is flipping through one of Steve’s sketchbooks that he’d found hidden under Steve’s mattress. He holds the sketchbook gently, running his fingers over the pages. He feels a bit like he’s found a lost treasure; Steve _never_ shows him what he’s drawing. The sketches start off innocent (Bucky laughing with a cigarette between his lips, Bucky with Rebecca on his shoulders) and then he flips a page and the sketches are _not-so-innocent_ anymore.

The very last page of the sketchbook makes his cheeks flush. It’s a charcoal rendition of Bucky sprawled out on a bed, obviously naked with a sheet barely covering his groin. His hair is ruffled, lips parted and his eyes are half closed in apparent pleasure. He looks positively _debauched_. The art itself is painfully intimate, the lines of his body drawn lovingly and with care.

Steve walks in while Bucky is still staring at it. Steve feels his heart drop into his stomach when he sees what Bucky is holding. Resisting the urge to urge to reach over and tear the sketchbook from his hands, Steve asks with as much calm as he can muster, “What are you doing with that?”

“These are good, Steve.” Bucky says, still staring at the page, voice soft and unreadable. He tilts the sketchbook so Steve can see the drawing he’s looking at.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable pain to come. He feels his precious secret, and the walls he’d built to protect it begin to crumble. “Buck, I’m sor-”

“Don’t.” Bucky cuts in abruptly, “Don’t apologize, okay?”He walks up to where Steve is leaning against the door frame, cheeks red and body tensed for a fight. He reaches for Steve’s wrist, feels his pulse fluttering wildly. “Is this really how you see me?”

Steve sighs, unable to hide anymore. “Yes.”

“How long?”

He lies, “I don’t know, Buck.”

“It’s been about three years for me.”

Steve’s world comes to a screeching halt and his head snaps up, “What?” When Bucky just smiles at him, he says desperately, “Don’t- don’t _fuck_ with me, I can’t-”

Bucky takes a breath and crowds into his space, hands cradling Steve’s jaw. “I’m not. I’m not.” He leans in, their lips inches apart and exhales shakily, “Is it- Can I-”

Steve cuts in, scrunching his hands in the front of Bucky’s shirt, “Yes.”

And then, finally - _wonderfully_ \- Bucky is kissing him.

Steve never wants to let go. He wants to take this moment, let it bleed into his pencil, onto paper and tuck it in his shirt pocket, close to his heart. Steve lets Bucky press him against the door frame, and he slides his hand into Bucky’s soft hair like he’s wanted to do for so long.

Bucky smiles against his mouth and breaks the kiss. Steve does his best to commit the way he looks at that moment to memory. Crooked smile. Evening sun glinting off his dark hair. Those grey eyes he’s known all his life. He thinks: _what did I ever do to get so lucky?_

They don’t let go of each other- not until years later when Bucky enlists and leaves him behind. He goes with a kiss and a promise of return, looking earnest and handsome in his uniform. Steve watches him go, feeling the rage of not being _enough_ begin to finally take over.

When Dr. Erskine offers him the opportunity to become something more, something _better,_ he agrees without a second thought. It’s not as if Bucky is there to stop him. He gets a new and improved body, and feels disappointment swell when his new body is used to do nothing but sell war bonds. He feels the rage of _not enough_ return with a vengeance. He’d thought he’d be rid of that in this new body. When he learns about Bucky’s unit being captured, he jumps at the chance to turn the tables and rescue Bucky for once.

For a while after that, it’s the two of them against the world again- a coupla’ kids from Brooklyn saving the day, like they’re _superheroes_ or something. Bucky gets over the initial shock of Steve’s new body and they continue to steal kisses in between missions, sneak away to Steve’s tent when they think no one is looking.

They talk about the future, what they’ll do after the war. It’s the only thing that gets either of them through the day sometimes.

“You could go to art school, sweetheart.” Bucky says one night when they’re both on watch, “I’ll get a job as a mechanic or somethin’.”

Steve smiles at him, amused. “Yeah? You gonna pay all our bills by yourself, hotshot?”

Bucky shrugs and gives him a little grin around the cigarette in his mouth. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll just have to get a little place in Brooklyn, is all.”

Steve actually begins to believe it could be that easy, that they could hole up in some little apartment in Brooklyn. That their luck won’t run out and fate won’t catch up to them. But it does.

In the winter of 1944, Bucky falls. And then Bucky forgets.

***

In the summer of 2016, Steve Rogers is 98 years old. It’s the same summer he stops looking for the Winter Soldier, after an exhausting two year search. He never stops having sleepless nights, haunted by those grey eyes. It’s when he stops looking that Bucky finds _him_.

Steve is at his apartment in New York. Though, not in Brooklyn. He can’t live the story they used to tell each other without Bucky.

He knows he should be happy to be off the road and finally home but he’s not. His apartment doesn’t feel like home. There are no traces of a person living there, no pictures on the walls, no books on the shelves- hell, the couch cushions have barely been sat on. Steve knows that it’s not the lack of decorations that make the place feel empty, it’s the loneliness. He’s beginning to suspect it’ll follow him around for the rest of his life. It’s during one of these lonely nights, when he’s thinking about taking Tony up on his offer to live at the Tower, that he hears a knock at the door.

He’s instantly suspicious, because the few people who know where he lives (Sam, Nat and some of the other Avengers) wouldn’t bother knocking before coming in. He peers through the peephole and his heart stutters and stops because- _it’s him._

Steve immediately flings the door open, convinced his yearning has manifested itself into a hallucination. If this is a hallucination, it’s a damn good one- because it’s _Bucky._ His Bucky, standing in front of him, looking ragged and tired.

Steve reaches out slowly, convinced he’s dreaming. When his hand touches solid cloth, Steve can’t help but lean forward and pull Bucky close to him, burying his face in his shoulder. Steve regrets initiating so much contact so soon when Bucky remains unresponsive for a moment. Before Steve can pull back and apologize, Bucky wraps his arms around his waist loosely.

“Buck _,_ ” a sob is caught in Steve’s throat, “You’re here.”

Bucky’s voice is hoarse from disuse when he speaks but it sounds like music to Steve’s yearning ears, “Yeah, I am.”

Steve only tells Sam at first, who advises Steve to get Bucky to the Tower as soon as possible. Steve agrees but after he hangs up he makes no move to call Tony. Instead he goes over to where Bucky is sitting at Steve’s nondescript dining table, staring at the wood intently.

He sits down beside him and can’t stop himself from staring a little. Takes in the sharp cut of Bucky’s jaw, the dark hair tucked behind his ear. Steve wonders if it’s as soft as he remembers. As he’s looking, he notices a gash near Bucky’s hairline.

He reaches forward to take both of Bucky’s hands in his own. He speaks as gently as he can, “Hey, Buck, you maybe wanna let me clean up that cut?”

Bucky looks down at where Steve is holding his hands then looks back up, still not making eye contact, expression unreadable. “Okay.”

Steve goes to grab his first aid kit and sits down, leaning in, close as he dares, to carefully clean the cut.

Steve speaks softly still, like he’s afraid that if he speaks up, he’ll ruin this dream and Bucky’ll disappear. “How long have you been on your own?”

“Two years.”

Steve feels a bit of unreasonable hurt, “You know you could’ve come to me anytime, Buck.”

Bucky finally makes eye contact and doesn’t look away, “I didn’t know if I was in control of myself. I still don’t know if I am.”

Steve frowns and leans forward to cup his jaw, Bucky not leaning into the touch but not pulling away either. “ _I_ trust you, Buck. And you can trust me- you, you know that.” Steve feels the need to prove himself, show Bucky exactly how much he’s missed him.

He moves slowly and carefully, eyes dropping to Bucky’s lips to make his intent clear- he’s waited a century for this kiss. But as their lips are about to touch, Bucky turns his cheek towards Steve’s face and mumbles, “Steve, what are you doin’?”

Steve feels as if cold water has been dumped over his head. He leans back and stutters, “I just- I don’t- I thought that-,” He sighs, rubs the back of his neck and says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed that you would still want to, um,”

Bucky says softly, “Were we together, before?”

A rusty knife seems to plunge into Steve’s heart. “You don’t remember?”

Bucky breaks eye contact and shakes his head, “No, m’sorry, I don’t.”

The knife twists.

Steve gets up from the table abruptly, “It’s okay. That’s fine. I’m going to go call Tony, okay? We’ll get you somewhere safe.”

Steve grabs his phone and goes to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He leans his forehead against the door and desperately tries to breathe.

***

Bucky _thrives_ in the Tower.

Tony is absolutely ecstatic when Steve finally calls him to ask if he and Bucky can stay in the Tower.It only takes a month for Bucky to break out of his shell and start talking to the rest of the Avengers. It only takes another two months before Bucky may as well be another member of the team. Steve’s not surprised. Between the two of them, it was always Bucky who tended to be outgoing and friendly. Steve tended to just follow along.

The two of them have their own apartment in the Tower and even though they’ve only lived there for a few months, it’s more of a home than the apartment Steve lived in when he got out of the ice. They have separate bedrooms, which takes Steve some getting used to.

There’s a lot that Steve is still getting used to. Namely, having Bucky back and so close but having to keep his distance.

Steve thought he’d lost all of his naivety sometime around the second world war. In all the time he’d been searching for Bucky, he’d always assumed that when Bucky remembered who Steve was, he’d remember what they’d had. He’d never thought Bucky would have forgotten _them._ Forgotten their first kiss, and all the ones after it. Forgotten the little moments they stole during the war. Forgotten their plans for the little apartment in Brooklyn.

It hurts him, to know that even though Bucky is _right there,_ he can’t reach out and touch him like he used to. Can’t kiss him hello, or hold him close at night. Steve finds it especially difficult because their space is just so damn _domestic_. Reminds Steve of the place they’d had before the war. Maybe even what they could have had after, if Bucky hadn’t fallen.

These thoughts all make Steve feel incredibly guilty. He knows he should just be happy that Bucky is with him again, and he _is_. He is. It’s just that- he feels sixteen again. Small, young, _not enough._ Holding onto a love he can’t express.

He and Bucky haven’t talked about it, and Steve’s determined not to bring it up again. He doesn’t want to push Bucky, especially when he’s still coming back to himself. Steve decides that if Bucky wants to come to him about it, he’ll deal with it then. He gives Bucky company when he needs it, privacy when he doesn’t. They’ve fallen back into their easy friendship, which had always been a part of their relationship anyways.

Bucky comes back to their floor after his therapy session one day and declares, “I’m gonna bake a fuckin’ cake.”

Steve pauses the show he’s been watching and quirks an eyebrow at him, “Are you now?”

“Doc says it’s good to have hobbies.”

“Do they have to be hobbies that might burn the place down?” Bucky glares. Steve ignores him and follows him into the kitchen.“I’m just saying, one time you tried to make soup for me and nearly burnt your hand off.”

Bucky wiggles his metal fingers at him, “Well, we don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“So _that’s_ why Hydra put that arm on you. Baking cakes.”

“Very classy, Captain America, making fun of a disabled POW.”

Steve rolls his eyes at him, “How do you plan on baking this cake?”

“With a recipe. And your help, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Bucky grabs his StarkPad and looks up a cake recipe. He mutters to himself as he scrolls through it, “Flour, butter, milk…” He nods to himself decisively. “Seems easy enough.” Steve makes a skeptical noise that Bucky pointedly ignores. He turns to get the ingredients out of the pantry.

Steve asks, “What do you want me to do?”

“Uh,” Buck glances down absently at the recipe, “Could you grab me the mixing bowl, sweetheart? I think it’s in the cupboard under the island.”

Steve freezes. _Sweetheart._

Bucky, who seems not to have noticed his little slip-up, is still roaming through the pantry .

Steve unfreezes and grabs the mixing bowl quickly from the cupboard. He sets it down on the island and says, “I actually can’t help you with your cake.”

“Oh no?”

“I forgot that I promised Nat I’d train with her today.”

Bucky doesn’t seem fazed, “Ok. Just be prepared for the best cake of your life when you get back.”

Steve’s already inching out the door, “Sure, Buck.”

He texts Natasha on his way out: _‘If anyone asks, we’re sparring right now’_

 _‘Sure’_ Then: _‘Who’s anyone?’_

Steve decides not to respond. Instead, he goes down to the gym, the one with the reinforced punching bags. He goes through the motions of wrapping his hands, warming up and slowly hitting the bag harder and harder.

He lets his mind wander back to Bucky’s casual use of an old pet name. His initial reaction had been disbelief. Steve had been holding his memories of what he and Bucky had been inside his own head for so long that it had startled him when Bucky had so casually voiced one of those memories out loud. It reminded him of all the endearments Bucky used to call him:

 _“You never know when to stop fighting, do you, baby?”_ or _“Jesus, sweetheart, what’d you do without me at your six, huh?”_ When he had Bucky in bed, he would never stop running his mouth: _“God, babydoll, you’re so good to me, honey- what’d I’d do to get a guy like you?”_ Steve would always blush, secretly pleased.

So when Bucky had called him ‘ _sweetheart’_ so casually, he’d been shocked. The more he thought about it though, he was just confused. If Bucky had no memory of the two of them, where had the sudden endearment come from? Was it just something in Bucky’s subconscious? If so, could other memories of the two of them eventually come to the surface?

He’s thinking so hard, he startles himself when the punching bag flies off its chain. He stands there for a moment, breathless. He can hear Peggy’s exasperated voice in his head: _“Always so dramatic.”_ Maybe he is being dramatic, Steve decides. Maybe Bucky’s slip had been just that- something stored in a part of his mind he couldn't reach yet. 

So instead of grabbing a new punching bag to pummel, he makes the decision to just move on from it. Bucky doesn’t deserve Steve focusing on something so inconsequential. Steve can hide his feelings about the matter- he’s had more than enough practice.

He showers quickly at the gym and heads back up to their floor. When he opens their door, it smells like cake. He calls out, “I came back as soon as I could to make sure the place was still in one piece.”

Bucky peeks around the corner long enough to flip him off.

Steve goes into the kitchen where Bucky is wielding a spatula laden with frosting. He’s concentrating intensely on the creation in front of him. There’s flour on his forehead, a couple of sprinkles in his hair and frosting on the dimple in his chin.

Steve loves him so much it aches.

He ignores the aching and says instead, “How’s it going, Chef?”

“I may have gotten impatient and frosted it way too soon.” The frosting does seem to be sliding off, and the cake is leaning precariously to one side. “But it’s done, I think.”

Bucky looks proud of his work and Steve can’t bring himself to tease. “I think it looks great, Buck.”

He leans over to dig his fingers into the frosting but is stopped when Bucky _thwaps_ him on the hand, “No.”

Steve gives him his kicked-puppy look. It’s the same look that he used to use to keep Bucky in bed before he’d have to go to work:

_“C’mon Buck, you can be late for once.”_

_Bucky would huff, “How many times have you used that line, Rogers?” But he’d crawl back under their threadbare sheets for a little while anyway, a fond smile on his face._

He blinks away the memory and says, “C’mon, Buck. I gotta give you my expert review.”

Bucky points the spatula at him threateningly, “Don’t even try those eyes on me, Rogers. I’m bringing this to movie night. You can eat it with everyone else.” When Steve just pouts a little more, he rolls his eyes and thrusts the spatula at Steve, “Here. This is all you’re getting, though.”

Steve takes the spatula, pleased. “You’re bringing a _cake_ to movie night?”

“What? Ma always brought cakes to the neighbours.”

“Your Ma’s neighbours weren’t the Avengers.”

“I dunno Steve, I think lil Mrs. O’ Reilly coulda given Barton a run for his money. Remember when she hit me square on the head with a wet sponge because we were being too loud outside her window?”

Steve laughs, “Yeah, I do.” He licks some frosting off the spatula, thinks a little and says, “Wait, _you_ remember that?”

Bucky clears his throat and goes back to fussing over the cake, “Yeah, kinda. Just random little things, you know?” He gives Steve a shrug, steadily avoids eye contact. “Weird how the mind works.”

“Weird.” Steve repeats.

Bucky doesn’t bring up anymore memories the rest of the day. The cake is a hit at movie night.

***

When Steve wakes up screaming from a nightmare one night, he forgets where he is. He sits up and holds his head between his knees as the dream slowly fades. Broken fragments flash through his mind: bombs exploding, the plane crashing into the freezing ocean, and Bucky, falling. Always falling. The feeling of _not enough_ and _why didn’t you do more_ is pounding through him. The emotion is so overwhelming he feels like he’s choking on it.

He doesn’t see Bucky standing at his bedroom door until he says, “You okay, Stevie?”

Steve starts at the sound of his voice. _“Bucky,_ what’re you- how’re you-” He closes his eyes, shakes his head and comes back to himself. It’s 2016. He’s in the Tower. Bucky is here. He opens his eyes again and says, “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Geez, don’t apologize. You want some company?”

Steve’s heart is still pounding. “It’s okay, you should get some sleep anyway.”

Bucky says decisively, “I’m staying.” He pads into Steve’s room in his pyjamas, feet bare and messy hair falling loosely around his face. There’s something so familiar about him, sleep mussed and soft, that Steve feels tears push at his eyes. Bucky sits beside him on the bed and asks gently, “You wanna talk about it?”

He tries to control the shaking in his voice. It doesn’t work. “I’ll be okay. You don’t gotta deal with my shit on top of yours.”

“You’re allowed to have problems too, Steve. You don’t gotta go it alone.”

Steve’s heart hasn’t stopped thumping unsteadily. He’s so exhausted and vulnerable that something in him snaps. He looks at Bucky and says, “You said somethin’ similar to me once, you know? After Ma died. You held me that night. Kissed me over n’ over. Told me you’d always be there when I needed you.”Once he’s started talking he can’t stop. “And you are. Look at you, you’re here. You’re here for me. My Buck.” The tears begin to spill over, “But you’re not gonna kiss me tonight, right? Not gonna hold me.” He feels regret rise up, like bile, as soon as he finishes talking.

Bucky’s reaches out to him, voice hoarse, “Steve, I-”

Steve ducks his head and swipes at the tears on cheeks, “No, Buck, it’s okay. I don’t- I don’t know why I said all that. M’ just tired. I’m sorry. You should probably go.”

Bucky ignores him and leans into hold Steve’s jaw in his flesh hand. Steve looks up, confused- thinks for a second that Buck’s gonna kiss him. But he just guides Steve’s head to rest in the space between his neck and shoulder. Steve can’t help but sink into him, just a little.

“Go to sleep, Steve.” Bucky says, voice firm.

Steve squirms, “You don’t gotta-”

Bucky cuts him off, “I know I don’t gotta.” Then he strokes his hand through Steve’s hair, the motion gentle and painfully familiar. Steve shuts up. His other hand rubs over Steve’s back and Steve fights back tears again. It’s been so long since Bucky’s touched him like this. He knows he should move away, knows it’ll hurt when Bucky lets go again.

Steve’s never been that strong when it comes to Bucky Barnes, though. He thinks to himself, a little pathetically, that he would get hurt a thousand times over for a moment like this one.

So Steve relaxes into Bucky’s body a little more and closes his eyes, inhales Bucky’s scent. It’s not the same as it was- how could it be? But it comforts him all the same. He hears Buck’s steady heartbeat beneath his ear, lets the rhythm lull him to sleep.

When Steve wakes up again, he’s wrapped in warmth. In their sleep, the two of them have arranged themselves so that Steve’s laying between Bucky’s legs, face pressed against Bucky’s neck. Steve relishes in the fact that Bucky’s body envelops his. Before the serum, he’d hated his body most of the time. But when Bucky would wrap him up in his arms, tuck him against his chest, it would be the one time Steve would feel grateful for his small frame.

Steve hadn’t realized how much bigger Bucky had gotten. Being tucked up against him like this makes Steve feel small again, protected from anything outside his arms. Buck’s got his metal hand on Steve’s thigh and his flesh hand on Steve’s back, fingers brushing bare skin where Steve’s shirt has rucked up a little.

When Bucky stirs a little, Steve snaps his eyes shut again. He knows it’s selfish, greedy, but he wants this moment to last just a little longer. He hears Bucky yawn, feels his flesh hand rub up and down Steve’s back. Steve feels Bucky suddenly drop a kiss to the top of his head.

Steve has to stop himself from startling. _Why’d Bucky do that?_ His mind flicks through all the events of the night before. He comes to a conclusion that makes him a little nauseous: Bucky pities him. Why else would he hold him after Steve’s embarrassing breakdown last night?

The thought makes him so uncomfortable, he gets up and sits, removing himself from Bucky’s arms. Bucky looks at him as he moves away, an easy smile on his face. “How’d you sleep?”

“Great.” Steve says quickly, ducking his head. “Sorry. About last night.”

Bucky’s smile melts into a frown, “Stop apologizing, Steve. What else am I here for?”

Steve fidgets, “I just don’t want you _pitying_ me or nothin’.”

“What? Pity you?” Bucky sits up too, so he’s kneeling across from Steve. “You think I’d do that?”

“Buck,” Steve says, still looking down, “I know you don’t remember, you know, _us_ , so why else would you- why would you-”

“Take care of you?” Bucky fills in. He reaches a hand over to grip Steve’s wrist. “I care about you. Nothing’ll change that.”

Steve looks at him, “I know that. I do.”

Bucky’s grip tightens on his wrist, there’s something in his eyes that Steve can’t read. “I’m sorry that I don’t remember, Steve. I wish-”

Steve shakes his head, “Don’t. Don’t apologize. Not for that.” He sighs, “I don’t need you to remember, Buck. You’re here. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Do want. Everything I said last night- I was just tired. It was stupid. Let’s just forget it, okay?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” A moment of silence passes. Then, “I’m beginning to understand why our generation was so repressed.”

“Yeah?” Buck cracks a grin.

“Yeah.” Steve says, “This talking shit sucks.” Bucky laughs, the sound bright and beautiful, breaking the tension.

Things go back to normal after that. Though, the next time Steve wakes from a nightmare, Bucky holds him again until he falls back asleep. Steve doesn’t protest.

Steve returns the favour one night, when Bucky startles awake from a nightmare of his own. Before, Steve had been nervous to comfort him after a nightmare- what if he said or did the wrong thing? Made it worse? But now, in the dark of Bucky’s room, Steve sits with him. Slides his hand into Bucky’s and leans into his side, shares his warmth- wishes he could do more. Bucky’s breathing eventually slows and he begins to doze, slumping in his sleep until his head is pillowed on Steve’s lap.

As Bucky sleeps, Steve thinks: he can be okay with this. What he and Bucky had- Steve knows he was lucky to have had it once. A love only he could know, one he would always cherish. He needs to move on- for his sake and for Bucky’s.

Steve realizes that part of him had hoped that Bucky would fall for him again. That Bucky would come up to him one day, that crooked grin on his face. That he would press Steve against the doorframe, the way he had all those years ago, and kiss him breathless.

That he would remember.

That he would want Steve even if he never remembered at all.

But Bucky hadn’t done any of that. Bucky didn’t- _doesn’t-_ remember. And Steve realizes, sitting with Bucky asleep in his lap, he doesn’t need him to remember. He can move on. He has to.

***

It’s the fall of 2016, Bucky Barnes is 98 years old and he has a secret. It’s a secret he’s determined to hold onto until his long overdue grave. Bucky has a lot of practice with secrets. He’s been an assassin for the majority of his life- secret-keeping, hiding and espionage all comes second nature to him. But this secret holds weight of a different kind.

The secret is this: _Bucky remembers._

He remembers his mother, her soft hands and kind smile. Remembers his little sister, shrieking with laughter as Bucky would tickle her. Remembers his childhood home: small, old, but enough. Remembers being young, earnest, a little cocky. Innocent.

He remembers Steve.

His Steve, young and small- bloody knuckles, brilliant smile. All that righteousness stuffed into such a small body. Bucky remembers falling in love with him, the way it crept up on him slow and unyielding. Watching Steve sketching on the fire escape one day, an errant lock of golden hair hanging in his eyes-Bucky thinking: _he’s all I’ll ever need._ Finding Steve’s sketchbook that summer day, letting himself hope that Steve could possibly feel the same way. Their first kiss, Steve tasting how sunshine felt, everything Bucky had ever wanted.

Bucky remembers Steve pulling him off Zola’s table, suddenly standing taller than Bucky in a shiny new body. Remembers loving him all the same, looking in Steve’s blue eyes, watching him flick a lock of golden hair off his forehead and knowing deep in his soul: _still my Steve_. He remembers all their stolen moments during the war. Pressing Steve’s powerful body against a tree trunk in some forest in France. How Steve’s body, now strong and sturdy, still yielded to him. How he still tasted like sunshine.

When Bucky finally finds his way back to Steve, he keeps this all a secret. Though he remembers Steve and how he loved him, he remembers the past seventy years he spent as a killing machine too. The countless victims, dying at his hands. The bloodshed he’d caused, the chaos he gave rise to.

Bucky thinks, he doesn’t deserve Steve. Not anymore. So, when Steve tries to kiss him, Bucky fights every instinct he has and turns his face the other way. He lies through his teeth ( _were we together, before?)_ , watches Steve’s face fall. Feels his own heart break. He never thought he’d be the one to put that look on Steve’s face. But it had to be done- for Steve’s own good. That’s what Bucky tells himself over and over again.

It’s hard though. Their apartment in the Tower makes Bucky think of the story they would tell each other during the war:

_“Listen, baby,” Bucky would say from where the two of them were curled up on Steve’s tiny cot, “Just lemme take care a’ you for a couple years, huh?”_

_“Buck, if you think I’m gonna watch you work while I go off to school, you’re out of your mind.”_

_“Aw, think of it as an investment, sweetheart. You go to school, become some hotshot artist, then we move into one of those high-rises.”_

_“Then you’d become my kept boy, huh?”_

_“Now you’re gettin’ it.”_

As difficult as it is, the longer Bucky stays in the Tower, the more he realizes how right he’d been in his decision. Seeing Steve and the life he’s built and all the good he’s doing as Captain America reassures Bucky. Steve doesn’t need him, not really. He’s become what Bucky always knew he would be- a leader, a man making a _genuine_ difference in the world. He deserves better than the Winter Soldier.

Bucky also reminds himself that he is not the boy Steve fell in love with, once upon a time. The past century has stripped away everything he thinks to be good about himself. He doesn’t have much left to offer Steve, not the way he did when he was young. He doesn’t have the story to tell Steve anymore, can’t make the promises he used to. What he does have left to offer Steve is this: the ability to keep his distance. To let Steve grow.

Bucky wants to be a better person, repent for decades worth of wrongs he’s committed. That’s why he came to Steve in the first place, knew his presence would keep him grounded. But he knew he couldn’t be so selfish as to be part of Steve’s life the way he used to be.

He does his best to remember this but he can’t help but slip up: recalls a memory he shouldn’t, can’t help but give him a kiss as Steve sleeps in his arms. It’s all muscle memory, consequences of having Steve so close.

Bucky never claimed to be perfect.

***

When Bucky goes to visit Peggy for the first time, he doesn’t tell Steve. He doesn’t really want to explain how he remembers her.

He goes to her nursing home when Steve’s gone on a mission. He sneaks past the front desk, not in the mood to make up a fake name and a fake story. Bucky pauses before knocking on her door. He remembers Steve telling him about her memory, and wonders again if coming here was such a good idea. But he knows he can’t pass up seeing her, not when she’s still alive- knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t.

He knocks. A no-longer-familiar voice rings clear, “Come in.”

When he steps into the room, she’s sitting up in bed, reading a book. Her grey hair is curling over her shoulders, and there are wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Bucky is hit with the sudden feeling that this is what his life would’ve been- if he hadn’t fallen, hadn’t been made into a weapon. He’d be grey and old and perhaps, happier, in a nursing home of his own somewhere.

Peggy looks up at him as he walks into the room. For a moment, he’s terrified she’s having a bad day and won’t remember him at all. But her expression relaxes into recognition, “James. I’ve been hoping you would come to see me.”

He can’t help but smile at her, “Hey, Peg.” He comes to stand next to her bed, “Was hoping you’d remember me.”

“Same could be said about you.” Peggy smirks at him, something knowing in her sharp eyes. “Are those for me?”

Bucky looks down at the flowers in his hands- they’re kind of sad, drooping and not very pretty. He’d grabbed them at the last minute from a vendor on the street corner. He holds them up for her, a little sheepish. “Yeah, they are.”

She doesn’t seem bothered by the ugly flowers. “Always been such a charmer, Sergeant.” She gestures to her night stand, “Set them over there for me, won’t you?”

He does, then sits down in the chair beside her bed. “Haven’t been a Sergeant in a long time, Agent Carter.”

She hums in agreement and sets her book down, “No, I suppose not.”

“Sorry I haven’t come to see you sooner.” Bucky says, “I just-”

“I know, James.” She smiles at him, “You’re here now. You’re not too late.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He clears his throat, “I’m happy to see you, Peg. I’m happy Steve had you after he came out of the ice.”

“I’m glad I could be there for him, even a little bit.” She gives him another knowing look, brown eyes as bright and intelligent as they’ve always been. “Though, I think he would’ve preferred someone else.”

Bucky shakes his head, smile a little bitter. “Maybe. That guy died a long time ago, though.”

Peggy frowns at the statement, “I know Hydra took a lot from you, James.”

“I don’t want pity.”

“And I’m not going to give you any,” she says firmly. “S.H.I.E.L.D was my baby. I built it from the ground up. And Hydra grew in it right under my nose. I’m partly responsible for that.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“Yes. I could have. But that’s not the point. I have guilt for what I let happen. But I’m not going to look back on every single thing that S.H.I.E.L.D has done and regret it all. We did some good. _I_ did.”

“You did.”

“So did you. The wrongs don’t erase all the rights. You can’t let what Hydra did to you taint every aspect of your life.” She reaches her hand out, and Bucky rests his flesh hand in hers. Peggy looks at him squarely, “You can’t keep lying to him, James.”

His eyes widen, and his expression turns sheepish. “How’d you know?”

Peggy raises an eyebrow at him, “I hope you haven’t always underestimated me so much, Sergeant. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. It’s hard to believe you remember _me_ and not what you and Steve had.”

Bucky sighs, “I don’t deserve him, Peg.”

“That’s not for you to decide. Steve deserves not to be lied to.”

“I just want to protect him.”

Her tone becomes gentle, “I know. You always have. But you know, as well as I do, that Steve can take care of himself.” She tilts her head, “Well, mostly.”

He cracks a grin at that, tilts his head towards the wedding picture on her nightstand. “Feel bad for that husband of yours. Must be hard to be with someone who’s as right as you all the time.” She laughs, raspy and bright.

Bucky presses a kiss to the back of her soft, sun-spotted hand. She still smells like 1944, the clean scent of no-nonsense soap and gentle, flowery perfume. When Peggy speaks again, she sounds tired. “Talk to him, James. You’ve been blessed with a second chance. Don’t let it go to waste.”

***

Bucky heads back to New York, Peggy’s advice sitting heavy on his heart.

Part of him knows she’s right: Steve doesn’t deserve to be lied to. Bucky knows that Steve can take care of himself, has known that since they were knobby little kids running through Brooklyn. But Bucky _likes_ taking care of Steve. Likes feeling like Steve still needs him for something.

He gets back to the Tower, thoughts buzzing through his head. He heads to the common room, where Steve, Nat, Sam and Clint have come back from their mission and are gathered around the kitchen island. There’s a smorgasbord of junk food laid out in front of them.

Steve’s shoving a donut in his face when he sees Bucky walk in. Steve garbles through the food in his mouth, eyes lighting up. “Bumffy!”

Clint grins at him, “Hey, Bumfy.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and steals a chip from Clint in response, “You guys are back. How’d it go?”

Sam shrugs, “Pretty standard. Caught ‘em by surprise so it was all pretty easy after that.”

Steve, who’s finally swallowed his food, asks “Where’d you go? I stopped by our place first and you weren’t there.”

Bucky lies, expression carefully neutral. “Went for a walk, was getting lonely in the apartment.”

He feels a little guilt when Steve’s eyes turn earnest, “Sorry, Buck. M’ back now, right?”

In his periphery, he can see Natasha chewing on a Twizzler and staring at him intently. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s watch a movie tonight, yeah?”

Steve smiles, appeased. “Sounds good. I’m gonna go shower.”

Sam and Clint file out after him, both citing the need for a shower and a nap. Natasha stays behind, still munching on a strand of licorice. Bucky’s reaching for a Twinkie when she speaks suddenly, “How was DC?”

Bucky looks at her, not exactly surprised, but cautious. He unwraps the pastry slowly and goes for blasé, “DC?”

She tilts her head at him, red curls swinging and eyebrows raised. It reminds him of the expression Peggy had given him only hours earlier. “Really?”

Bucky sighs, defeated. When had he become so easy to read? “How’d you find out?”

“I have my ways.”

“Are your ways charming JARVIS into giving up information?”

Natasha shrugs, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “How would I go about charming an AI?”

“I’m sure you’d find a way.”

“I appreciate your confidence in my skills. So. DC?”

Bucky looks her straight in the eye and shoves the entire Twinkie in his mouth. “Sr’y, m’ mouf i’ full. Ta’ lafer?”

Natasha levels him an unimpressed look. “You’re disgusting, Barnes.”

Bucky winks at her and heads for the elevator. When he gets to his and Steve’s apartment, there’s an unfamiliar and unmarked cardboard box sitting on the kitchen island.

As Bucky’s inspecting it (slightly suspicious), Steve walks in, hair wet from his shower and thin shirt clinging to his chest. Bucky is momentarily distracted from the box, eyes tracking a drop of water sliding down Steve’s throat.

He turns away before he can be caught staring and indicates to the box, “You know what this is?”

“Yeah, I forgot to tell you.” He slides the box towards Bucky, hesitant. “The Smithsonian had a lot of our stuff from our old place. Your old uniform is in there too. I know you might not remember a lot of it, but…”

Bucky jumps in as Steve trails off, “No, that’s great. Thanks. I can’t believe they have this.”

Bucky opens the box under Steve’s expectant gaze. An old familiar scent wafts out, causing a lump to form in his throat. It smells like a different lifetime, a different world.

Bucky sees his blue coat sitting on top right away. He runs his hand over the material, hesitant to handle it too roughly.

Steve pipes up, “It’s your old coat. You _loved_ that thing, wore it on every mission.”

Bucky doesn’t understand for a second why Steve is explaining, then remembers that he’s not supposed to remember any of this. He clears his throat, “Oh yeah?”

Steve laughs fondly, “The Howlies used to make fun of you ‘cause you used to put on that coat and do your hair all nice. They used to say you looked like you were going on a date, not a mission.”

Bucky runs his thumb over a chipped button and smiles, remembering silently as well. He thinks about the real reason he’d gone through all that work to look nice, able to reflect much more objectively in retrospect. Truthfully all the effort he’d put into his appearance had been for Steve and Steve alone.

Steve, who showed up to the war so suddenly, looking like Apollo in a Captain’s uniform. Steve, who had magically grown into his spitfire ways, finally big enough to back up his words. Bucky had felt the inadequacy so deeply, standing next to him, uniform dirty, feeling like a part of him had been scooped out by the war.

Bucky remembers doing his hair, hoping that looking nice would fill the emptiness he’d felt ever since he’d been pulled off of Zola’s table. He remembers hoping Steve wouldn’t finally realize that Bucky was unworthy of him- that he always had been.

Bucky looks at Steve now, still as breathlessly in love as he was almost a century ago.

Words get caught in his throat, so he picks up the coat in lieu of response. As he lifts it out of the box, a piece of paper flutters from one of its pockets to the floor. As Steve stoops down to pick it up, Bucky realizes what it is: the drawing Steve had done of him so long ago.

 _The_ drawing- from that fateful summer day in Brooklyn, both of them so young and so unaware of what was to come. He’d ripped it out of Steve’s sketchbook on a whim and put it in his pocket before he’d left Brooklyn.

He watches Steve’s cheeks flush as he realizes what it is. He looks up from the sketch at Bucky,“I didn’t know you had kept this.”

Bucky doesn’t know how to respond without blatantly lying so he looks away, “Hmm?”

He runs a hand through his hair, “I know you probably don’t want to hear about this, but…. this drawing,” Steve holds the yellowed paper gently, reverently. “It’s what made you realize how I felt about you, when we were still teenagers. And you told me you felt the same. I couldn’t believe it- Bucky Barnes wanted _me_?”

The story, told from Steve’s perspective, makes Bucky’s stomach flip. Steve continues, “Second best day of my life.”

Bucky looks up at that, confused. “What was the first?”

Steve looks up from the sketch, smile soft. “The day you came back to me.”

Guilt rises in Bucky at the statement, spoken so honestly. Peggy’s words ring through his head: _You can’t keep lying to him, James._

Heart hammering and lump in his throat, Bucky says, “Steve… I need to tell you something.”

Steve takes a step closer, concern evident on his face at his tone. “What is it, Buck?”

Bucky does his best to look Steve in the eye, build up any courage he can. Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks: “I remember.”

“You remember? The coat you mean?” He pauses, “Or that day?”

Bucky swallows, “No. Well, yes, I remember that. I remember everything. Brooklyn, the war, Hydra. You.” He forces himself to finish. “Us.”

Steve shakes his head, “I don’t understand. When did it come back? Did all our old stuff trigger something?”

“Steve, I…” He looks at the floor, unable to meet those earnest blue eyes. “My memories came back almost three years ago. A few months after the helicarrier.”

The statement hangs heavy between them.

Steve’s silence rings through the room. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Three years. You’ve been lying to me all this time?”

“I’m sorry.” He looks up at Steve again, “I thought it would be easier.”

“Easier?” He lets out a harsh laugh. “ _God_ , Buck. If you didn’t want to be with me you could’ve just said so.”

Bucky moves closer, horrified at the idea. “That’s not it at all, I swear.” He grips Steve’s stiff hand in his, tone desperate for Steve to understand. “I did it because I knew I couldn’t be a part of your life like before. You deserve better than me, Steve. You always have. I’m not the same boy you fell in love with all those years ago.”

He pulls his hand out of Bucky’s grip, eyes blazing. “Fuck you, Bucky. You don’t get to decide what _I_ deserve. You think I’m who you fell in love with a century ago? I’ve changed too.” Steve’s voice breaks, “I _love_ you, Buck. I loved you then, and I love you now.”

Bucky feels the weight of how much he fucked up come crashing down. “I’m sorry, _I’m sorry._ I just wanted to protect you.”

It’s a statement Bucky’s made in countless arguments before, and it only makes Steve angrier. “I don’t _need_ protection! All I ever needed, all I ever wanted was you. I’d take anything you want to give me, Buck- friendship or more.” He shakes his head,“But you _lying_ to me?”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say but to repeat, “I’m sor-”

Steve cuts him off, heading for the door. “I can’t do this right now. I need time.” He grabs his coat from the hook, “I’ll be back later.”

Bucky watches the door slam shut behind Steve, the sketch he’d done so lovingly falling to the ground behind him.

***

The second that Steve closes the door, he feels like shit for walking away. Where will he even go? Who could he talk to that could even begin to understand what he was feeling? Steve walks a few steps down the hall then stops and slides against a wall to sit down heavily on the floor.

Bucky’s desperate eyes swim in his mind, their argument replaying over and over.

Steve knows why he’s so angry and it's the thing he and Bucky have _always_ argued about: Bucky doing what he thinks is best for Steve with little regard for how Steve might really feel about it. Most of the time, Steve finds it sweet, even useful- he knows he can be a little reckless sometimes. But this has nothing to do with recklessness and everything to do with Bucky thinking _stupidly_ that he’s not worthy of love at all.

That thought makes Steve catch his breath a little. Has he done something to make Bucky feel like that? He’s descending into a spiral when Natasha happens upon him.

She kicks his shoe to get his attention. Steve looks up at her, a little startled. She’s in sweats and a t-shirt, looking comfortable in a way people rarely see. “Oh, hey.”

She scrunches her eyebrows at him, “What’s wrong?”

Steve responds on instinct, “Nothing.”

She quirks an eyebrow, and sits down beside him, setting down the bowl of popcorn she’s been holding. “Okay. Let’s try again. What’s wrong?”

Steve looks down and gives her the short answer, “Bucky and I got into a fight.”

“About?”

Steve huffs, “How is it that you get to know everything about my life, but I know nothin’ about yours, huh? Like who are you going to go share that huge bowl of popcorn with?”

She ignores him, “Answer the question, Rogers.”

He sighs and slides his knees up to his chest, feeling like a petulant child. He rests back on the wall, head lolling sideways to look at her, “Nat…” the words are painful to get out, and he feels some sympathy for Bucky who had been trying to say the same words moments before. “He remembers everything. He has for _three years_. He’s been lying to me this whole time.”

She doesn’t look surprised, though she rarely does. She hums in thought and he can tell she’s thinking carefully about how to respond. Steve likes that quality in Natasha- so different from his own quick and careless way of communicating.

She finally settles on, “What else did he say?”

Steve is loath to repeat Bucky’s words.“He said he did it to protect me. Did it ‘cause he doesn’t feel like we should be together again, doesn’t think he’s worth it.”

Nat’s small but calloused hand comes to rest on his forearm, “He’s killed people, Steve. Innocent ones.”

Her words contradict her comforting demeanor, and he feels immediately defensive. “I don’t _care_ what he did.”

“I know you don’t care. But he does. Maybe he always will.” She squeezes his arm, as if to emphasize her point. “You know as well as I do how heavy guilt can be. We’re all just doing what we can to survive the burden that comes with this job.”

“I know that. But it’s _me_. If he can’t trust me enough to tell me the truth then-”

“It’s _because_ it’s you, Steve. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you. He doesn’t trust himself.” The way she says it makes Steve look up at her, and he catches a distant, haunted look in her eyes. She breaks eye contact and lets go of his arm. “Stop moping and go talk to him. You both deserve to work through this.”

As she gets up and goes to leave, Steve grabs her wrist. “Nat. Thanks.”

She gives him a little smile and says, “It’s Clint.”

“Huh?”

“He’s the one I’m sharing the popcorn with. We’re gonna watch old Pixar movies.”

Steve grins at her and takes the information as the small gift it is. “Have fun.”

He stays on the floor a little longer, gathering his thoughts and trying to calm down before going back to the apartment. Even as he’s opening the door, he still doesn’t know what he’s going to say.

He finds Bucky sitting at the kitchen island, back to Steve and the yellowed sketch in his hands. He looks back at the sound of the door opening. Steve sees his lost expression, and any fight that may have been left immediately drains from his body.

Steve comes and sits next to Bucky at the island. Bucky speaks up, voice hoarse, “I thought you’d be gone longer.”

Steve shrugs, “Where would I go?”

Bucky slides his hand over Steve’s where it’s resting on the countertop, “I shouldn’t have lied.”

Steve can’t help but tangle their fingers together. He looks at those grey eyes, still as arrested by them as he was at sixteen years old. “No,” he says softly, “You shouldn’t have. But I get why you did it.”

“You do?”

“I know that we’ve both changed, Bucky, but this fight about you being overprotective,” Steve cracks a small grin, “We’ve had it a million times before.”

Bucky gives him a little smile too, “I guess we have.”

A silence falls over them both, their argument still hanging heavily in the air. Steve looks at their joined hands, sees the callouses that have developed on both of their hands over the years and feels such a sudden wave of grief thinking about all they’ve lost. The time that was stolen from them, by the war, by Hydra. Steve is _so fucking tired_ of keeping it all in. He doesn’t want to hide anything from Bucky anymore, and so he speaks up through the lump in his throat, “Buck, I…” His voice cracks as he voices his true fear,“I thought you didn’t _want_ me anymore.”

Bucky gets out of his seat in a flash, “ _Steve_ ,” he says, coming to stand between Steve’s legs. He cups Steve’s jaw and tilts his head up to look him in the eye to say firmly, “I’m sorry I ever made you think that. You are the _only_ thing I have ever wanted- could ever want.”

Steve stands up too, overwhelmed, and pulls Bucky to him, burying his face in Bucky’s neck. His breath hitches, voice muffled into Bucky’s skin, “You don’t gotta want for me, Buck, I’m right here. M’ all yours.”

Bucky tightens his left arm around Steve’s waist, the other gripping the back of his neck. He brushes his lips to the shell of Steve’s ear, tone desperate and wounded, “I can’t hurt you again, sweetheart. I won’t-”

Steve presses their foreheads together and cuts him off, “Stop. Do you trust me?”

The response is instinctive and honest, “More than myself.”

“Then trust me when I say I trust you” He bumps their noses together, “You deserve to be happy, Bucky. _We_ do.”

Bucky’s grip tightens on the back of his neck, voice barely a whisper, “You really think so?”

Steve smiles at him gently and nods. He sees the moment something clicks, and then, as if out of Steve’s dreams, Bucky leans in and kisses him. Steve’s eyes close as their lips meet, and it’s been _so long_ but they still fit together as if they were made for each other, _from_ each other, carved by the gods from the same stone all those years ago. Bucky pushes him back into the counter and Steve’s body melts for him as if on cue.

Tears spill unbidden, salt mingling between their lips. Steve doesn’t even realize that the tears are his own until Bucky pulls back to kiss the wetness from his cheeks. He murmurs between kisses, “S’okay, baby, I got you.” A kiss to Steve’ temple, his cheekbones, his bottom lip, “I’m here, I’m here.”

***

They’re laying skin to skin on Steve’s bed, naked but for the thin sheet across their hips. Bucky looks down at Steve, head laying on his chest, moonlight illuminating his golden hair. Steve looks up as if he senses Bucky’s stare and leans up to give him a kiss. Bucky smiles against his mouth, thinking: _sunshine._

Steve sits up to straddle his lap, tucking an errant lock of Bucky’s hair behind his ear. Bucky settles his hands on Steve’s thighs as he asks, “What made you decide to tell me?”

Bucky thinks about how bad the last lie ended and resolves for honesty, which feels easier in the night and with Steve tucked so close. “Few things. Mostly, it was… Peggy.”

Steve blinks, “You saw her?”

“Earlier today, actually.” He slides a hand up Steve’s back to the nape of his neck. Now that he’s started touching, he can’t stop. “She was always good at talking sense into, well, the both of us really.”

“Good thing she’s still around.” Steve sounds lost in thought when he speaks again, “You think they ended up happy?” He presses his thumb to the dimple in Bucky’s chin, “The rest of the Howlies?”

Bucky feels a little thrown by the question, “I don’t know, I-I hope they did.”

“Except for Peg, they were all gone when I woke up. Dum-Dum died only a year before. I looked them all up as soon as I could, but she was the only one alive.”

Bucky squeezes his thigh, “They lived long lives, Steve. However happy, unhappy, mediocre- they lived.”

“Hmm,” Steve says and settles back against Bucky’s chest. He presses a kiss to the scarring on Bucky’s left shoulder. “Why didn’t we get to?”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say for a moment. Then: “That’s not our story.”

Steve looks up at him, “No?”

“Nah.” Bucky says, “We were always meant to end up here, remember? This high-rise, you going out to work while I stay home, spoiled.”

Steve laughs, loud and bright, and if possible, Bucky can’t help but fall in love with him a little more. “You sayin’ you’re finally my kept boy?”

Bucky grins at him, “Sweetheart, I’m saying no matter how it happened, however long it took, I was always gonna find my way back to you.”

And as Bucky gives him that crooked smile, dark hair messily framing his face, grey eyes twinkling, Steve believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @captainsthve
> 
> Let me know what you thought below ❤️


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